Destination India (16 page)

Flic turned to face me and bowed her hands together, ‘Louise, yours should be
I will stop being so uptight all the time,
’ she said in a hippy-dippy voice.

‘I’m not uptight!’

Rahul put his hand up, ignoring my annoyed expression. ‘Louise, this is the time to let others speak and listen to their words of wisdom. Sometimes others can see us better than we can see ourselves.’

I huffed and turned my back on Flic’s innocent face. I was sat next to Chris. ‘Erm, I think your mantra should be
let go of the hat
.’

I heard Ollie stifle a giggle.

Once again Rahul was looking at me. ‘Please, something serious.’

‘I am serious.’ I began to protest but stopped when I realised the others were actually thinking of proper things to say. I took a deep breath. ‘OK, Chris, your mantra is
I will get involved more.
’

Chris didn’t say a word. He just nodded sharply and turned to offer a mantra to Liz who was sitting cross-legged next to him. After we had all shared our wisdom Rahul clapped his hands to get our attention.

‘Excellent work, guys. Now we would like to invite you to go and see the sadhus and repeat the mantra you’ve been given three times.’

I got to my feet with trepidation but followed the others. Joining the end of the line I watched as Ollie knelt down before the half-naked wise men and said his mantra that Bex had given him, something about
being bold and brave
; the three gurus nodded regally and Ollie got to his feet before giving the rest of us a thumbs up and jogging to a waiting Rahul.

When it was finally my turn I slouched to my knees, feeling the gravel slicing my kneecaps, and repeated the mantra Flic had given me. Two of the sadhus nodded and I was about to get onto my feet thinking the third must have dozed off when the silent one grabbed my hand in his gnarled, calloused claw and traced a dirty finger down my palm. The long, brown, curved fingernail almost scratched my skin.

I let out a yelp in surprise.

His watery brown eyes met mine; I could feel the rest of the group waiting with bated breath for what this man would utter. The sadhu slowly nodded and then turned his face and spat on the floor next to my feet. Stringy, wet strands of chewed, red tobacco hung between his chapped
lips and wiry beard. I pulled my hand away and raced to meet the others who were in fits of laughter.

‘Well what the bloody hell is that supposed to signify?’ I asked Flic.

Instead of explaining it was the symbol of some higher purpose, she just shrugged. ‘I reckon he just needed to hack up some phlegm.’

Wow, well so much for enlightenment.

Star (n.) A person who is celebrated or distinguished in some art, profession or other field

According to our itinerary we had a day at the beach, and the thought of lazing on pure white sand and trying to get my head together sounded blissful. However, Nihal hadn’t explained that this Mumbai beach was one of the most polluted in the world. Moving cranes, piles of rubble and building sites in the middle of construction were the backdrop to the mucky shores. Mumbai life already feels like it’s squashed and compressed into tiny spaces and the beach was no different. Shacks were propped up against the pier walls, next to stalls that appeared to have been assembled overnight on the coarse sand. Hawkers plodded along the enormous stretch of the tide, hoping to sell their wares. Looking around at the fug in the hazy sky, with engine fumes where there should have been the smell of coconut sunscreen, and the brown uninviting waters instead of crystal-clear ocean, I wanted to cry.

‘Well paradise this ain’t,’ Bex huffed, slapping a mosquito away.

‘Usually we get very nice blue skies here.’ Nihal was blatantly bullshitting as he sensed the team spirit fall as flat as a chapatti. ‘Isn’t that right, Rahul?’

Handsome Rahul had joined us again today; I had to admit that I had found myself smiling at seeing his face as he waited for us in the hotel reception earlier.

‘Yeah, I’m sure it will clear up later,’ Rahul said brightly. He was one of the most positive people I had ever met; maybe he had been hanging around sadhus for too long.

‘Follow me, there is a nicer section of sand just ahead where we can chill out.’ He walked off purposefully as we dragged our feet behind him, trying to avoid crunching on chucked-out chicken bones and Coke cans.

‘What’s going on up there?’ Ollie called out, pointing further down the beach.

A crowd of people had circled together by a cluster of drooping palm trees and were looking at something. Wondering what the commotion was, Nihal ran off to investigate, straining his neck to peer through the throng to see what was going on. His face broke out into the first real smile I’d seen since I’d met him. His eyes sparkled and he squeezed his hands together, clapping for the group’s attention.

‘Guys, come and look!’ he called, bursting with excitement as he spoke. ‘So many Hindi-language films are made in Mumbai; that’s why it gets the name Bollywood. We make over nine hundred a year.’ He started reeling off name after name of popular films that had been shot in the city that none of us had heard of, even though Flic pretended that she had. ‘They are usually a mix of singing and dancing with handsome men and beautiful women who are deeply in love but kept apart for some reason.’ His eyes dipped as he said this, and I knew he was thinking about Ameera. ‘Today you are very lucky as one is being made right here in front of us!’ He seemed like a kid at Christmas buzzing with excitement, the same sort of feeling I would
have if Beyoncé herself was belting out one of her hits just feet away from me.

‘Cool,’ Bex shouted, almost elbowing Chris to get a sneaky look.

There were cameras, boom sticks and women dressed in beautiful saris in all the colours of a peacock feather, the sunlight glinting off the many gemstones adorning the soft billowing material that rustled in the sea breeze. As the sound of excited chatter bubbled away amongst the group, my mind wandered back to Marie and for a moment I felt a crushing sense of sadness for being a crap best friend. She would be in her element here. I hadn’t heard from her since she’d walked out on me in the pub and I promised myself that making amends with her would be the top priority on my to-do list once I got back.

Nihal had been swallowed up in the crowd, desperate to spot the leading actor. Just a few feet from the shore of the Indian Ocean a harassed-looking director bellowed down a chipped megaphone, shouting things in fast Hindi and English. An even more harassed-looking runner raced up to our group.

‘Hello!’ the young skinny lad shouted, wiping his dark forehead as he caught up with us. ‘We are very short on extras. Is there any chance you could help us out and take part?’ he pleaded, looking nervously over at the gruff director.

‘Hells yeah!’ Bex half screamed in my ear. The young guy almost jumped back from the shock before smiling gratefully.

‘OK. Fantastic.’ He turned on his heel, about to sprint back to the director, before I stopped him.

‘Wait, what do we need to do?’ I glanced at him apprehensively.

‘It’s very simple; we need westerners to add class to the film. We just need you to dance like you’re at a beach disco behind the main couple. They are in love and want to show each other what the other means to them through movement.’ His words tumbled out. The director ranted something in Hindi down his megaphone, making the young assistant flinch. ‘Please, you would be helping us out considerably. The other group of tourists we had previously selected haven’t turned up.’

‘Course we will. Won’t we, guys?’ Ollie answered for all of us, and everyone nodded fervently.

‘Thank you. Now hurry and come with me.’ The assistant padded down the sand to the crowd, shouting at them to stay back, before beckoning us over with his thin fingers. Half jogging to catch him up I noticed that Chris was the only one to stay behind.

‘You not coming?’ I asked as he shook his head.

‘I’ll, erm, get some photos shall I?’ He seemed insistent that he didn’t want any part of this. It was strange how he shied away from being in any photos but was happy to play photographer.

‘Suit yourself,’ I said, and ran to catch up with the others who had been led behind a white truck that had its doors flung open. Inside was an Indian woman with an enormous bun, rummaging through costumes that were spilling out of large, battered suitcases. I hoped Bex hadn’t noticed the way she did a double take at her larger body and tutted to herself.

Bun-haired lady shooed us all into the van and thrust bright red and blue material in our hands and told us to get changed; it was nothing like how I’d imagined a trailer to be. Ollie was sent to a separate van for the men to get changed.

‘Eurgh, it smells. I don’t know if this dress has ever been cleaned,’ Liz said holding out the stained fabric and wrinkling her neat nose.

A loud rapping sound on the truck door made us jump. ‘Ladies, hurry hurry!’

Taking a quick look at one another I tried hard not laugh. Each of us was wearing an A-line knee-length dress. The fabric was scratchy and Liz was right, it did smell musty. However, it certainly wasn’t a case of one size fits all. Every lump and bump was on show for Bex whereas Liz looked like she was dressed in some sort of queen-sized bed sheet as it bunched and gaped at her skinny armpits.

‘I thought he said it had to look like we were some guests at a beach party. This looks like we’ve escaped from a mental asylum and raided the nearest charity shop with the lights out.’ Bex sighed.

‘Come on, let’s go and see what they’ve got Ollie in,’ I said shaking my head and giggling.

Turns out Ollie hadn’t fared much better. His flamered nylon polyester shirt was obscenely tight, naff gold buttons were straining over his chest – well the ones that were fastened – and a heavy-looking chain hung around his neck. He had squeezed into some Lycra flares that admittedly did make his bum look super peachy but left nothing to the imagination from the front. Not that I was complaining, I found myself thinking.

‘Wit woo,’ Bex cheered as Ollie’s cheeks flamed the same colour as his shirt. ‘The seventies called; it wants its style back.’

Ollie shook his head. ‘What the hell have we signed up for?’

I couldn’t hear what he said next as a noisy group of tourists were heading across the beach, all chatting excitedly and pointing at us.

‘Oh God look. It’s those chumps we met at the Taj Mahal.’ Bex nodded her head to the group congregating behind us.

Turning round I was almost face to face with Ameera.
What the …?!
I was now certain that she had stolen my carefully crafted itinerary; India is too large a country for this many chance encounters.

‘Oi. What you staring at?’ Bex shouted to a short Chinese man in the group who was ogling her breasts.

Ameera swished back her petrol-coloured shiny hair, a sheepish look flashed upon her pretty face before she arranged her delicate features into a scowl. ‘
We
were booked to take part in this shoot. So if I were you I would go and get changed,’ she said. Her perfect English accent had a sharp tone.

I realised they had to be the group of tourists the runner guy had said were meant to be here, wearing these itchy clothes instead of us.

‘You’re late. That’s why they asked us to take part,’ I said finding it hard for any confrontation in this ridiculous get-up. Nothing I said would sound right wearing this much flammable material.

‘Well, we’re here now. So run along and get changed.’

‘No way. I’m not missing this opportunity.’ Bex crossed her arms and glared at her.

‘Well we’re not either,’ a lanky man from Ameera’s group replied in a thick German accent.

Bex squared herself up to him, despite only coming up to his armpit. ‘Back off; find your own Bollywood film to be in.’ Liz quickly darted in front of her, to both protect Bex’s modesty and to act as a barrier before she launched herself at him WWE style.

It was starting to look like some naff version of
West Side Story
with the two tribes coming face to face. As if
drawn by a magnet, Nihal bounded over and judging by the dark look on his face I thought he might implode in anger.

‘Ameera,’ he growled, glaring at his ex, his tone full of unspoken words between them.

The harassed runner who first got us into this situation came running over. I thought he was going to say something about the clothes, the fact that Bex’s large breasts were struggling to escape for freedom or our unplanned stand-off with the other group but instead he let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m sorry, you need to get changed.’

‘What? I can’t try anything else on. It’s their fault,’ Bex said.

Lanky German man stared her out. ‘We were officially here first.’

The runner put his hands in the air, separating the two of them. ‘No, I am sorry but the shoot has been cancelled. No one is taking part in this film.’

‘Cancelled? Why?’ I asked.

The whole area was set up for filming and after all the tales Marie had told me about making a film, no matter how small or low-budget, there were a hell of a lot of costs involved.

The runner swatted a fly away; a swarm of pesky mozzies must have seen our lurid outfits as tropical flowers as they began dancing around our shoulders. ‘The main actors have fallen ill.’

‘Can no one else stand in?’ Flic shouted out.

Runner man shook his head. ‘This is the last scene to shoot, when they realise they still love each other. It is the pinnacle of the film so unless we can find their identical twins we just cannot film today.’

Grumbling, Bex, Liz and Ollie headed to the truck to get changed. Ameera’s tour group padded off, moaning that
it was all our fault and Nihal looked like he was about to cry. He was so excited to see his favourite Bollywood star in front of him. The runner was about to race off to join the rest of the clearly irritated crew who were dismantling equipment when I softly grabbed his arm.

‘Wait. I have an idea.’

Accord (v.) To be in agreement or harmony; agree

It hadn’t taken much persuading. Both tour groups wanted to take part in the filming, the stressed-out runner looked like he just wanted the day over with, and the director wanted to finish his masterpiece. I really didn’t want to let my tour group down, plus I knew from our warring exes’ body language that both were desperate to be the main stars in a film. Shame they had to act out the love scene with the other. Once I’d suggested Ameera and Nihal standing in for the couple the runner had looked like he wanted to kiss me before excitedly racing off to sell the idea to the director. The fat, gruff man turned in his sunken chair and with one look at beautiful Ameera he gave the slightest of nods.

The film was back on.

‘But we don’t look anything like the main actors,’ Ameera said, avoiding Nihal’s reaction.

‘Actually, you do look very similar to the main actress, especially when we get you in costume and hair and make-up,’ Runner man said, making Ameera blush. ‘And you.’ He pointed to Nihal. ‘You’ll wear make-up to look like you’ve been very badly injured defending your love for her; this should help disguise you. Plus these shots will be filmed from a distance so we can edit in the close-ups of the real couple at a later date.’

‘So, we’re all good to go?’ I asked him, crossing my fingers behind my back.

The assistant sighed. ‘The only problem is we don’t have enough outfits for all these extras as we didn’t plan for double the number of people.’

Unable to bear with the thought of us missing out or starting another turf war with Ameera’s group I quickly glanced round the beach hoping for some sort of inspiration.

‘Scarfs!’ Liz nudged me. Her pale, sun-cream-laden arm was pointing to a beach seller lugging around a heavy woven basket trying unsuccessfully to sell sarongs to scarce sun worshipers.

The runner shrugged. ‘I guess …’

Flic was already jogging over to the woman, whose eyes shone with glee that she would sell out. Flic raced back, her arms laden with brightly coloured silky material that she handed out to both tour groups. ‘Maybe you could wear this dress, as you would fit into it.’ She nodded towards a quiet, frizzy-haired woman from Ameera’s group who looked like she could actually pull off the look. ‘And the rest can cover up in these. Fashion them like saris?’

The runner translated to the director and the crowd of people around him who nodded and gave us the thumbs up.

‘Thank the Lord. I thought I was going to be sucked to death in this thing.’ Bex sighed happily and grabbed a jade-coloured scarf.

We got changed out of the rough fabric of the naff dresses and wrapped the soft satiny scarfs around us. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked over to Nihal and Ameera who were sat in the shade of separate palm trees being tended to by make-up artists. I noticed their eyes meet for a moment before an excited passer-by took
their photo. God knows how Nihal could even bear to be so close to his ex after her dirty, sabotaging tricks but at least the tour group would experience something totally unique.

‘OK, everyone in position in five minutes,’ the runner barked.

The two groups, including a more comfortable-looking Ollie who had fashioned a sort of toga out of his deep royal-blue sarong, headed into the marked-off area of the beach. It felt like hundreds of people had picked the best spots, lining up around the cordon excited to see what was going to happen. I felt my stomach do a slight flip with excitement at the randomness of this moment. Secretly crossing my fingers behind my back I said a silent prayer that everything would work out and there would be no more drama.

The crowd broke into applause as Nihal and Ameera strutted onto the sand. I did a double take at Ameera: she was now dressed in a pale lavender dress that seemed like it was designed just for her lithe limbs; her slim ankles were adorned in jangly gold anklets glistening in the sunlight; a beautiful, intricate headband was placed like a halo on her jet black hair and dramatic, bronze eye make-up made her emerald eyes even more striking.

Nihal looked dapper in a glitzy white suit. Jewels and gems shone from his lapels and the ‘injuries’ that had been painted on only added to a sort of rugged charm. He couldn’t keep his eyes off his ex either.
Nihal, think with your brain not your member,
I telepathically willed him.

‘OK, now you stand over there and when the music starts you need to dance over to her begging for forgiveness whilst the dancers on her side try to shield her away,’ the runner explained.

‘Nihal never apologises for anything,’ Ameera said quietly enough for the runner to miss but loudly enough for Nihal to hear.

‘Only because you would make me apologise for
everything
if I did! I can’t ever win with you, Ameera,’ Nihal answered back, adjusting his tight, black collar. ‘I know it was you who wrote that nasty fake blog post too. Why on earth would you sink to such low depths to get back at me?’

Their eyes locked for a second before she dipped her long lashes to the sand. ‘I am sorry about that. I will delete it. I just … I just …’

‘Just what? Why are you doing this? Why are you following our tour?’ Nihal hissed.

Ameera took a deep breath. ‘If you hadn’t spent so long away and forgotten about me then I wouldn’t need to,’ she replied, glancing over at her tour group who were practising the basic dance steps we’d been quickly taught.

‘What?’ Nihal stepped back in shock. ‘I would never forget about you. I was working for
us.
I took this job so I could save up enough money to ask your father …’ Nihal faded out, his cheeks flamed up, and he scuffed the sand. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

The director blared something through the megaphone, which the assistant translated. ‘OK, guys, in three, two, one.’

‘What did you say?’ Ameera turned to Nihal, ignoring the director.

‘Nothing.’ Nihal shook his head and moved into position. Loud jazzy music started, a fast-paced Indian tune with an array of clanging instruments all rising to the crescendo. We started to practise the steps we had been taught, kicking our feet and shaking our hips to the strange rhythm. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ameera.

‘What did you say, Nihal?’ she pushed.

‘OK. And, Nihal, you go!’ the assistant shouted as the dancers backed out of the way. Nihal gave Ameera a look that said the conversation was over and stepped forward, shimmying like a true professional.

‘And now, Ameera, you move,’ the director boomed.

She didn’t have a choice but to delicately twirl over to Nihal trailing an almost see-through scarf behind her that floated in the sea breeze. The buzz surrounding them was electric; I almost stepped on the lanky German’s foot, as I was too busy keeping a close eye on the two star-crossed lovers.

‘Oi, watch it!’ he growled.

I raised my hand in an apology and tried to dance my way closer to Ameera and Nihal to hear what was going on.

‘What did you mean? Ask my father what?’ Ameera asked through a plastered-on, fake smile when they were just inches apart. Nihal dipped his head and flexed his biceps to the beat, as if these moves had been rehearsed; maybe they had been practised and refined over the years in his bedroom. I was craning my neck to hear what Nihal said but Bex hip bumped past me, giving me the thumbs up.

‘And cut!’ the director called.

Nihal took that as his chance to stride back to his corner of the ring like a boxer would, fired up for his next fight. Ameera just looked on longingly behind him before the make-up artist trotted over and quickly touched up her flawless skin and sprayed hairspray on her locks. It seemed like Ameera’s icy exterior was melting in this tropical heat. She had lost that steely look in her eyes and instead a childlike and vulnerable air clouded around her. I hoped to God it wasn’t just an act.

The runner was over in an instant, calling the extras over to him. ‘OK, we like your energy but we need more. You.’ He pointed to the lanky German man. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Stefan,’ he replied firmly.

‘OK. Well, Stefan, you need to move your hands and make them much more relaxed. Imagine you’re using them to entice a fine lady.’ At this Stefan blushed the same colour as his maroon sarong; judging by how uncomfortable he appeared I wasn’t sure if he had ever seduced anyone before.

‘You.’ The runner pointed to Bex. ‘Be more ladylike; think a goddess
not
a guy.’

Bex clenched her jaw; that had hit a nerve, but surprisingly she didn’t fight back – instead she nodded and scuffed the sand with her bare foot. I saw a quick glance between her and Stefan as they both mumbled something under their breath.

‘The rest of you, fantastic work. OK, and three, two, one.’ He clapped his hands and the whole scene was repeated.

This time as Nihal danced closer and closer to Ameera she stared at him outright. ‘What did you want money to ask my father for? For me?’ she whispered, swishing her hair and gently swaying on the sand.

Nihal sighed and he nodded slowly. ‘I knew he would not agree to me asking to marry you otherwise. I needed to prove I would always be there for you, to provide for you, to look after you,’ he said, and then quickly shut his mouth, embarrassed by saying too much already.

Luckily scarfs were being wafted around the two of them so Ameera’s blush was hidden from the view of the camera. They were edging closer to each other. The tension coming off them was incredible. I hoped the director realised just how much emotion was going into this ridiculous, random scene.

‘I would have married you without any money,’ Ameera admitted quietly.

Nihal’s head snapped up as he focused his eyes on her.

‘Great, keep going. Now, Nihal, you slide in and try to offer your hand to Ameera to dance but she turns you down,’ the runner called over the music, interrupting this special moment.

Nihal followed his orders and as his palm was inches from Ameera’s delicate wrists he leaned in and said, ‘I wanted
you
to be proud of me.’

Ameera spun on her heel, leant her head towards Nihal and whispered, ‘I am.’ A coy smiled played on her bright painted lips.

‘Fantastic, guys. Now this time, Ameera, you take his hand and together you dance through the line of extras.’ The runner interrupted this moment of honesty as he flicked through the pieces of messy paper stuck to the clipboard in front of him.

I felt like I was watching this film play out rather than actually being part of it, and I pulled myself together, realising I was here to work not gawp at the real-life love scene before me.

‘Extras get into twos – one man and one woman, quickly,’ the runner shouted, tapping his wristwatch.

I glanced around to find an available man but the only one left was Rahul. ‘Will you be my partner, Louise?’ he asked offering me his hand and flashing an honest but bashful smile.

‘Oh yep, sure,’ I said, clearing my throat, suddenly feeling very warm.

‘Great, well let’s see your best moves.’ He winked.

I don’t know if it was the frisson of tension building between Nihal and Ameera, the exotic setting or the romantic music that had faded into a slower love song but
I had this inexplicable urge to kiss him. I turned to face him and his eyes creased into a smile. His hair had been slicked back with gel and sweat into a quiff that really suited him.

‘More like my two left feet.’ I laughed, or was that giggled? I couldn’t tell. Rahul looked down at my bare feet, tanned against the pale sand, and shook his head confidently, pulling me in by the waist. I tried to both enjoy the moment and steer us over to Nihal and Ameera who were at the centre of a group of three other dancers. Their hands were clasped and their feet moved effortlessly in time to the beat.

‘Now, in three you all share a kiss at the exact moment our main couple share their passionate moment,’ the runner called out.

‘What?!’ Flic shouted looking horrified at the chunky Chinese man who had made an unsubtle beeline over to her. ‘You never said that when we signed up!’

A couple of others grumbled too. Rahul had his arm slung casually around my waist; I realised that neither of us was complaining.

‘Just a pretend kiss, a quick kiss on the lips like you do when you play as a child,’ the runner explained, looking harassed. ‘If not, then you can leave this scene now but we have to start all over again.’

This slight blackmail seemed to make everybody’s mind up. As cool a story as this was going to be to tell friends back home, we had been prancing about in the heat for what felt like hours. We were all flagging and desperate for the director to cry cut.

Flic grumbled to herself and scowled at the Chinese man. ‘Don’t even think about slipping a tongue in,’ she warned.

‘OK, Nihal and Ameera, are you ready?’ The husky voice of the director boomed through the microphone.
Their bodies were so close, heads tilted and besotted smiles on their faces. Right there and then I understood that all really is fair in love and war. I believed that Ameera didn’t know how much harm she had done in writing that fake blog post; she had just been desperate to grab Nihal’s attention. People do daft things all the time in the name of love. Staring at the two love birds I realised that maybe it was better to do something big, bold and stupid to make them remember you exist rather than stay mute and try to cover up your feelings, like I’d been doing with Ben.

‘You don’t have to really kiss me, if you don’t want,’ I heard Nihal say softly to Ameera, looking at her shyly; all the bravado was just an act.

Her eyes dipped to the sand and she gave him the slightest of nods that shook her cascading sheet of hair. ‘I want to,’ she replied – just audible over the romantic rift of music that was blaring down the beach.

Nihal’s lips twitched into a smile. Soon they were both trying hard to hide grins that were desperate to fill their faces.

Rahul still had his arm slung around my waist and was now effortlessly swaying me to the beat. ‘You OK with this, Louise? You haven’t got some secret boyfriend who’s going to jump out of the bushes and kick my ass, have you?’